


What Secret Husbands are Good For

by Elizabeth1985



Series: Cockles [4]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Misha, Cockles, Comfort, Jensen comforts him, Jensen gives Misha a massage, M/M, Massage, Misha has a bad day, Top Jensen, Top Jensen Ackles, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4198752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth1985/pseuds/Elizabeth1985
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha is having the worst day ever: His phone is smashed, there's no coffee in the apartment, he gets rained on, he's late for work, he trips into a wall, and three scenes took thirteen goddamn hours. </p><p>It's a good thing his pseudo husband Jensen is there to make everything better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Secret Husbands are Good For

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "I always see Misha comforting Jensen except yours or it’s like way short ok can you write where Misha has an extremely bad day for some reason and Jensen gives him a massage to help comfort maybe with a happy ending?" 
> 
> I hope it's not too short! :)
> 
> Beta awesomesauce: [Tennyo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/profile)

Misha slams his car door shut and gives the sky a dirty look. The clouds are heavy overhead and he’s got a good ten minute walk to the studio from where he’s parked.

It’s the first day back on set and he’s already late as it is. Sure enough, a short ten feet from the parking lot, the dark grey clouds give up and the water pours down to the metal roofs around him and the asphalt under his feet. It’s the kind of rain that soaks you in seconds. And instead of picking up his feet and hightailing it through the various studio buildings to make it to No. 17 on the north side, he stops completely and glares through the heavy cascade of rain.

“Fucking figures.” Misha wipes the thick sheet of rain from his face and falls into a quick jog. His feet squidge and squirt inside his shoes with every step. His jeans sit heavy on his frame and his dark green button-up cardigan is dragging down, the sleeves hanging past his middle fingers.

This is _not_ how today should have gone.

By the time Misha makes it to the dressing trailer, everyone is bustling about and the sopping clothes get thrown off in a haste and Cas’ attire wrestled on with his skin still damp. Pulling the fabric on is an irritating process and a healthy string of fuck’s and goddammit’s make it through the crack in the door.

Next stop is makeup, and he’s constantly told to relax; smooth out his features. He’s half tempted to groan and complain, but bitching about things isn’t his style. Fuck, though... Of all days, whining about his morning so far would’ve been justified. Holding it all back, he presses his lips together and closes his eyes, letting the feel of the foamy makeup pad against his skin take over his senses for the next thirty seconds.

Misha is dreading the few scenes scheduled for today. One is bound to be tense and emotional, and therefore difficult. And the day has only just begun but it’s already gone to shit. For starters, he’d woken startled after an awful dream—the details of which he can’t even remember—and swiftly tried to grab his phone from the nightstand only to realize it was still attached by the power cord. The fucking thing yanked free of his grasp, skidded across the nightstand and crash-landed onto the hardwood floor. The screen was smashed to smithereens and nothing worked. Making his way into the kitchen in a desperate search for caffeine, he found the grocery list on fridge door with Jensen’s handwriting scribbled on it. Fourth item down the line in big block letters was: COFFEE!! A post-it below the grocery list said: _Mish, Leave time to hit up Starbucks or you’ll be a grouchy fucker all day. Love Me._

Unfortunately, he _did not_ have time to hit up Starbucks and, _God_ , their apartment was a mess, and he couldn’t find a pair of clean boxers to save his life. The whole morning was basically an endless series of growls and curse words thrown about the Vancouver apartment like angry confetti.

“You’re all set,” Shannon says. “And don’t frown so much, you’ll ruin my handiwork.”

Misha attempts to give her a smile, but the effort is nothing above a slight lift at the corners of his mouth. It’s no more a smile than a whale is a fish.

“What’s eating you?” she asks.

Keeping his reply succinct, Misha says, “Bad morning.” He smiles again and eases out of the makeup chair and heads out to the set. Jensen and Jared are already waiting for him. He mutters his apologies for being late and takes a seat.

Jensen immediately catches the underlying mood but there’s too many people around to offer him the privacy he needs to ask about it. Arching and pushing his shoulder blades back, Misha tries to shove it all behind him. Three scenes and he’s done. Three scenes. Maybe ten hours if they’re lucky.

***

Thirteen hours later and Misha is finally able to leave. Fucking thirteen hours. And every single minute of it was fucking terrible. During the first scene, Jared and Jensen were horsing around, all full of stupid excitement over the new season and, as expected, Jared accidentally body-checked part of the set and it took an hour to fix.

Jensen, in his best efforts, tried to flirt between takes and lighten his mood. It only pissed him off more because they hadn’t had any real time together in a while and he’s horny and needy and just fucking wants to be cuddled and he hasn’t been cuddled. And Jensen has been in Austin all the damn time lately, and the new season means more time together, but life has been getting in the way and the only memory he has of Jensen getting into town yesterday was the vague feel of his jostling movements as he crawled into bed after a late flight.

Naturally, Jensen’s call time was earlier that morning and he’d left at the asscrack of dawn. Misha felt nothing more than a promising stroke up his thigh and soft kiss to his cheek before sleep dragged him back under.

The last scene to shoot was a tense one between Dean and Cas and it was both easy and difficult; the latter because he was in a fucking rotten mood and the former because all he wanted was to melt into a sappy puddle of need and have Jensen wrap his big, strong arms around him and sing his cares away. The emotion that came across seemed to nail the scene with minimal effort, and after the fifth take they wrapped it up.

Oh, but his run of shitluck didn’t end there. Literally walking out of the studio towards his trailer, he tripped on the flattest level surface possible and catapulted himself into a wall. The façade of said building got a serious mouthing off.

Now, finally in his trailer, Misha angrily wrestles out of Cas’ stiff clothes and he puts them by the door so that he remembers to return them to the wardrobe closet. Granted, not so much a closet as a room, but whatever.

Clad in nothing but his toxic mood, he walks towards the single bedroom and starts digging through his things for some extra clothes. One pair of black jogging pants and white long-sleeve t-shirt later and he feels a fraction better.

“What a fucking stupid day,” he murmurs as he’s walking by the table on his way out and reaches over to snatch his keys. They fall on the floor.

For a sheer second, he almost cries. It’s too much, The keys fell on the fucking floor. Thirteen hours of work. Jared breaking things. Loud people. No sex. Kids. The destruction of caffeine intake. Rain. _The world!_

“Gggrrraaahhh!!!” Misha grabs fistfuls of his hair and contemplates ripping it all out.

The metal trailer door creaks open and Jensen’s familiar face pops into view around the frame. “Hey Mish, you—“

Jensen stops mid-sentence and gives him a once-over, his vivid green eyes widening with alarm. “Jesus fuck. Are you okay?” Rushing in and making quick work of the short hallway, Jensen wraps around him in a heartbeat and pulls him into one of those tight, enveloping hugs that steal your breath only when you want your breath stolen.

Giving up on any kind of pretense, Misha sags into the warmth and says, “I had a really, really, _really_ bad day. I just want to go home. Please take me the fuck home.”

Pulling out of the hug, Jensen angles back and surveys his face. No doubt the burn in his eyes is some sort of symptom of tears or whatever. “Did something major happen? Is everyone okay at home?”

Misha blinks hard and inhales deep. “Yes. Everything is perfectly fine,” he answers in a dull voice.

“Mish, you were seconds away from tearing out your hair and breaking out into sobs before I came in. You’re never like that.”

Missing the comfortable feeling of the hug, he slides his arms around Jensen’s middle and lowers his face to the stiff shoulder that’s been marked by his teeth on a few glorious occasions.

“It was one thing after another. My phone broke. _Well…_ I broke my phone. There’s no coffee. It was raining. I fell. I don’t know. The universe hates me today or something. I’m horny as fuck, but also in desperate need of naked cuddling.”

Jensen’s light laugh makes his chest shake and it feels like a breath of a fresh air, a great contrast to the sudden wet mouth that’s kissing his neck. Jensen traces his lips all the way up the side of his throat, and when his full mouth presses against the outer curve of his ear, Misha shudders.

“Time to go home, babe. I’ll make you dinner, and kiss you”—Jensen kisses his cheek—“and cuddle you, and rub you down, and put you to bed. How does that sound?”

Misha whines for it. That's what wives and pseudo husbands are made for. “I fucking love you.”

A brief chuckle and a quick kiss precede Jensen’s return of affection. “Love you too, babe. C’mon. I’ll drive your car back.”

On the way to the car, Jensen keeps close. They’re always careful walking about. You never know who might be around and see something they aren’t allowed to see. Sure, some of the cast and crew know the scoop, but fewer than anyone might guess. Misha imagines those who suspect something are far greater in number than they’d care to believe.

Even knowing how high the stakes are, Jensen drapes his arm across Misha’s shoulders and keeps him nice and tight against his side. All the way there, he’s tempted to turn sideways and curl into Jensen’s frame; maybe pass his lips across that tempting neck. A barely-there touch. Totally casual. An accident, even.

A soft moan escapes him when they finally see his car, one of only a few left in the lot.

“I’ll drive quick. Get in,” Jensen says the words in a series of whispers against his cheek and he’s craving the privacy of their apartment nearly as bad as he wanted some dark roast that morning.

Knowing him inside and out, Jensen tunes the station to his favourite FM setting and tells him to lean back and close his eyes. Falling back against the seat, he lets his stiff frame release some bridled tension.

The rain subsided hours ago, but the smell of it still lingers and Jensen’s cracked the windows to let cool air flow in. It rustles his air and cleans out his lungs. Already, things feel better.

“I missed you,” he says quietly.

Reaching across the console, Jensen takes Misha’s hand and interlaces their fingers. Their knuckles bumping past each other is one of those insane flickers of satisfaction that makes his heart falter rhythm.

“I missed you, too. Sorry I couldn’t be here when I said I would be.”

Holding onto Jensen’s forearm with his other hand, Misha shifts in his seat and sets his eyes on a long-awaited sight. “It’s okay. I understand. I don’t mean to make you feel like crap about it or anything. Sometimes I just need you.” It’s as simple as that. Their relationship, from the very start has been based in a bizarre mashup of need, unshakeable desire, and intrigue. They fascinate each other. Days have been lost lying in bed mapping out each other’s lines, curves, crevices, dimples, freckles, etc… Talking about their respective pasts, their wives, their kids, things that worry them, things that make them happy. It occasionally borders on an addiction. Matured love is usually calm. Theirs has a bit more of a storm to it.

They know it isn’t normal. _Fuck_. Even Vicki and Danneel both caught the vibe from that first party so many years ago. There is some magnetic draw that has ensnared them both. Misha will be forever grateful to Danneel and his own wife for plotting their inevitable climactic convergence; or in simpler times: The Best First Time Ever. What beautiful cunning wives they have. Devious, delicious women.

“Almost home, Mish.” Jensen’s voice is somehow both soft and powerful and it has the ability to make him feel cared for and turned on at the same time. After the day he’s had, it’s a toss-up over what he wants more.

After they park and take the elevator up to their private floor (a necessity after a few ‘almost’ incidents back in the day), their messy apartment is a blessed haven. All their collective crap strewn about; papers and two laptops, and random nicknack's, and Jensen’s forgotten clothes that got left behind from the last time he was here.

Pulling him into a casual hug, Jensen presses a kiss to his mouth. They both take in a long breath of each other, melting into the privacy of being home.

“Go lay on the couch, I’ll heat up leftovers.”

“Such a perfect husband,” Misha mutters without thinking.

The plush couch has got his fucking name on it. “Oh, God yes.” Misha faceplants the leather and groans. He digs one arm into the back between the cushions and hangs his other off the edge to the floor. He spreads his knees and basically starfishes over as much of the black surface as he can. “Hmm, yeah… that’s good. Right there.”

Jensen calls over from the kitchen, “Are you having sex with our couch?”

“Yes. It’s so good.”

A familiar belly laugh eases across the space between them and Misha smiles, picturing the way Jensen throws his head back. Damn, it’s fucking sexy. Sexy and adorable; a lethal combination.

“I’d be jealous, but that couch is super comfy.” Jensen’s voice rises as he makes his way into the dark room. Glass plates are put down on the coffee table. Misha cracks one eye open and sees the spaghetti he’d made for Jensen the night before, knowing he’d be hungry after the few hours of travelling.

“Did you have any last night?” he mumbles, face smashed into the leather.

“I did.” Jensen leans over and kisses the side of his face, lingering long enough to make him really want more. “Sit up and eat, and then we’ll go straight into bed.”

Just as he’s dragging his useless body up from the inviting cushions, Jensen’s phone rings. The sound is shrill, disruptive and he’s half a mind to smash that one too.

Reaching into his front pocket, Jensen takes a passing glance at the screen and clicks off the sound before placing it on the coffee table beside his plate. “No interruptions,” he promises.

“Mm, thank you.” Wearing a tired smile, he picks up his fork, noting how weak his hands feel, and gets to work on the plate of food set out for him. 

They eat in silence, but over the course of the meal, Misha gradually slants towards Jensen. By the last bite, nearly all his weight is braced against Jensen’s side and his head is pillowed on that firm shoulder. The twirl of spaghetti around his fork almost ends up in his lap but he doesn’t care anymore.

Moving slow enough not to disrupt him, Jensen puts their plates back on the coffee table and shifts around to pull Misha against him; one arm secured around his back and the other between them, his fingers brushing over Misha’s eyelids.

“You’re gonna make me carry you, huh?”

Misha smiles and moans. “I’ll love you forever and ever.”

The soft press of lips and the warmth of proximity take him over as Jensen parts his lips and teases him with a silky lick. “You’ve promised me that many times before, Mish. You need a new line.”

Before he can dredge up a retort, Jensen is already manhandling him, shoving one arm under his knees and the other behind his back. The couch falls away and they’re moving. His eyes are barely open and he loves the bumpy motions of Jensen walking through their apartment with him in his arms, and the subtle strain of Jensen's breathing under the heft of his significant weight.

Jensen drops him unceremoniously onto their bed with a gruff noise. “My God you’re such deadweight when you’re this tired.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Once he’d landed on the bed, his arms and legs settled wherever, and he’s basically at Jensen’s mercy. The day has tired him and annoyed him and he’s more than ready to close his eyes and let whatever’s about to happen, _happen_.

“Mmm, well, at least you’re pliable and I can have my way with you.” Jensen laughs.

A soft chuckle bubbles out of him as Jensen starts to pull down his jogging pants. Man it’s nice to be taken care of sometimes.

“Lift your butt,” he’s told. Misha complies— _barely._ But he manages to arch up enough to allow his jogging pants to be pulled all the way off. He’d forgone underwear in his earlier mood and now lays naked from the waist down.

Crawling up over him, Jensen straddles his hips and pushes his shirt up to his armpits. Instead of asking him to heave up off the bed, Jensen does the work for him; gently lifting the back of his neck and shoulders with one hand and pulling the shirt off with the other.

“I feel like an invalid,” he says, a breathy laugh rushing out as he’s dropped back to the mattress.

“You’re certainly making my job difficult. But I suppose you’ve had to undress me when I’ve been completely unconscious once or twice.”

Misha snorts. Once or twice? Try every single time Jensen gets smashed.

“Alright, alright. Maybe more than that,” he amends. The last part of his sentence is muffled as Jensen lifts his own t-shirt over his head.

Now, Misha has the incentive to open his eyes. Above him, his lover sits across his hips, thighs spread wide. Chest bare. Tight jeans and boxer-briefs are the only thing left between them.

“Get naked,” he demands, eyes roaming up over Jensen’s soft belly, his pert nipples shaded the same colour as his cock, the firm ridge of his shoulders and collarbone, that unmarked neck that he would rather see splotched red. All of it dotted with faint freckles.

When his heavy-lidded blue eyes find Jensen’s rapt gaze, he’s lost in it for a moment. It’s in that darkened green that his cares fall away. Every annoyance that attacked him during the day is reduced to nothing more than petty incidents not worth his time or further thought.

“You’re awfully demanding considering you’re too tired to do anything about it. I bet you couldn’t even push me off right now.”

Misha laughs and tries, groaning with the effort. He gives up and laughs some more. “Whatever. I’d rather have you on top of me anyway. This was my grand plan. I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Jensen grins, all full of innocent happiness. His trailing fingers meander across Misha’s bared skin; skimming across his jaw and down the slope of his neck, rubbing harder across his chest. Flipping his hand over, Jensen’s knuckles graze along the centre of his belly until Jensen’s own crotch puts an end to his progress. Keeping his eyes on Misha, he strokes up, rubbing across the prominent bulge behind his zipper.

Watching Jensen’s perfectly tanned hand grope and squeeze through his jeans enlivens Misha from his previous fatigue.

“Fuck, you get me worked up,” he says in a thick voice, straining under the build of simmering arousal.

“Don’t get too excited, Mish. I’m gonna meld you into putty first. C’mon, flip over,” Jensen says, easing off of one knee and trying to roll Misha onto his back.

Grunting as he moves, Misha wiggles and flops under the limited space beneath Jensen’ legs. On his belly, he sighs and finally relaxes.

The weight dipping the bed at either side of him eases off and he can tell Jensen’s finally moving to get rid of those damn tight jeans. Of course he had to go and wait until Misha could barely catch a glimpse. “Not fair,” he mumbles.

Jensen chuckles as he climbs back on the bed, all skin on skin. A wanton groan slips out over the dark grey duvet cover. Thick, muscular thighs bracket Misha’s hips and the subtle weight of Jensen’s half-full cock rests against the crease of his ass.

A cap is snapped off and he squirms imagining how good it will be to lie back and let Jensen fuck him to sleep. Except the cool liquid lands on his back and not in drips over the swell of his ass.

“What are— _Ohhhhh yeah. Fuuuck_ ,” Firm knuckles knead circles into the meat of his back and an endless series of groans pour out of his mouth. The scent of the massage oil is a mix of lavender and something he can’t place but it’s filling the room with lush aromatic comfort.

“Told you I was gonna meld you into putty,” Jensen reminds him, fingers spreading wide across his shoulder blades and working the muscle.

“I thought you meant sexually.”

“Save that for when you’re a bit more energetic. Wouldn’t want you crashing on me.”

‘Hmm, true.” Misha sighs and basks under Jensen’s attention. It feels so good. Stupid good. Amazing good. “God, your hands feel fucking awesome right now.”

Jensen laughs and keeps it up. Talented fingers and the heels of palms work him over and his consciousness starts to buoy, sensation drifting in passes of awareness. Every inch of his skin tingles and the bed is so soft and Jensen’s skin is so warm. Those hands, those perfect hands take him apart at the seams and he’s content to fall asleep in a mess of pieces.

By the time Jensen has melted his back and is rubbing circles into the sides of his hips, Misha is drooling onto the duvet cover. He’s barely aware of Jensen starting to rock against him, his formerly soft cock turning rigid as he drags the length down the cleft of his ass.

The fingers kneading his outer hips turn inward and start to rub deep into the muscle of his ass and _holy fuck_ does that ever feel good. Jensen’s slicked thumbs press up and in along the lower curve of his ass, sneaking their way closer together.

Unstoppable purring noises rumble from his chest when Jensen massages a bit closer, his fingers gripping the meat of his ass and pulling him apart. “Fuck,” the curse is a muffled rash sound absorbed by the fluff of the blanket below his face.

Heavy and hot, Jensen’s broad chest lowers over his back; the massage oil making them both slick. In a thick whisper against his ear, Jensen says, “Feelin’ good, babe?”

Unable to answer with more than a grumble of needy sounds, Misha thrusts into the bed and feels Jensen begin to roll against him, silky fingers sinking between his legs and back up.

“Love you like this,” Jensen breathes against his skin. “So happy and relaxed. I hate seeing you upset.” A series of warm kisses caress the side of his face and they both lose themselves to a low moan at the feel of Jensen’s finger pushing into him. Being relaxed as he is, Jensen eases in two more almost immediately. The wide stretch after all that relaxation is intoxicating, his body fighting the need to tense up for release.

“Relax, babe. I’ll get ya there.” Jensen works him open slow and gradual, teasing his rim with twists of his hand and making stars light up behind his eyelids when Jensen curls his fingers down, his thumb kneading behind his sac. In the blurred, lazy drift of arousal, Misha’s nearly positive he could come like this. Untouched, half-asleep, with Jensen fingering him.

All three fingers slowly pull out and Jensen rubs against him a few times, dipping his thumb in once before lining up his cock. Needing a little leverage, Jensen wraps his arm under Misha and across his chest, hooking over his shoulder on the right side.

“Move your knee out, ya lazy butt. You’re making me do all the heavy lifting here.”

Misha smiles into the duvet and shoves his knee out over to the side. Before he’s settled, Jensen is already pushing into him; commanding and gentle. It’s the way it should be. Jensen’s significant weight presses him into the bed and despite the lack of oxygen, nothing has ever felt better after the day he’s had. The rolling pressure relentlessly burying into him fires off a series of shivers and tingles. The moans no longer pause for breath, and Jensen pushes in and draws back in a continuous motion.

Loud, uninhibited groans rumble against Misha’s eardrum. Every last ounce of caged anger from the past fifteen hours is fucked right out of him and it leaves him needy and weirdly upset. Having Jensen like this after missing him so intensively is a shock to his system. Emotions roar up from nowhere and they begin to choke him, tightening up around his throat and burning his eyes with a rush of tears.

Jensen’s even pace has picked up, but in the split-second he catches a low sniffle, he stops on a dime. “Hey, hey, you okay?”

“No… yes. I don’t know.” Misha laughs. “I feel so good and you’re finally here and the bed is so fucking soft and I had a really shitty day and now I’m tingly and…” he cuts himself off and tries to reset. “I have no idea what’s wrong with me. But for the love of God, do not stop what you’re doing.”

Jensen chuckles, kisses his neck and starts rocking into him. All the earlier rhythm is abandoned in favour of a rougher crashing of hips. Each impact forces a hard sound from his throat, a mix between a grunt and a rugged sigh.

“Do you know what you called me earlier?” asks Jensen, holding himself still, buried to the hilt.

“Hmm, no,” he says, doing all he can to strain back for more.

Moving back, his cock sliding out and catching at the head, Jensen teases him with shallow fucks. “You don’t remember?”

“No. Fuck, Jensen, please. Don’t-don’t…” Misha can’t get the words out. He wants more. He needs more.

Shocking Misha with a bone-jarring thrust, Jensen snaps his hips and slams against him. Lowering his mouth once more to his ear, Jensen’s words are full of liquid heat, “You called me your husband. All casual and not even noticing it. You don’t even know how hard that got me.” To emphasize his point, he digs in deeper, crushing Misha’s ass with his hipbones. That bracing connection sets off a ripple of unending shivers and Misha nearly comes onto the bed that very second.

A whole new wealth of emotion rises from the centre of his chest and his eyes are back to burning. “ _Mmngh_ … Scr-screw legalities. It’s what you are to me.”

Jensen’s arm secured around his chest cinches tighter and his other hand buries into Misha’s hair, nails scraping over his scalp. Misha whimpers when the slow-build fucking starts up again.

“Fuck, babe, say it again for me,” asks Jensen; that deep voice raw and thick.

“Best husband ever. Feeding me, ma-massaging me… _fucking me._ Aahhh, God. Faster,” he trails off as his request is answered with a series of rough, jerking motions that send him riding the mattress up towards the pillows. If they keep it up he’ll be fucked through the headboard.

“Oh, fuck. _Mmhh_ … damn, you feel good.” Jensen gets rougher and less civilized, the month and a half between this time and the last is a large time to make up for.

Misha lets go of whatever heated tension built up in his stiff muscles and takes each crashing grind full force, his eyes rolling back, his cheek dragging against the soft duvet cover. Pressure and liquid arousal rise in the pit of his stomach and trickle down to his groin, his balls tightening against his body.

“M’ close,” he murmurs. It’s an odd delirium that takes over as he edges towards release. Very rarely does he ever manage to loosen up and let his orgasm wash over without pushing for it. There’s only a sliver of guilt in knowing that Jensen is doing literally all the work and he’s just splayed across their bed taking it. Fuck, it’s so good to be fucked like this.

Jensen is plastered to his back, hands gripping and holding him in place as those powerful hips hammer against him faster and faster. Drops of sweat from Jensen’s forehead land into his own hair and he groans, loving the visceral way they fall together when it’s been too long.

“ _Mish_ ,” Jensen cries out, his body going still for a short breath before shudders take him over and he’s filling their bedroom with deep, ragged exultations. The crushing hold Jensen has around him, and the subtle jerking of his erection inside puts him right near the edge, almost, _almost_ going over.

“Oh fuck, Jensen, please…” don’t stop.

Jensen breathes harsh against his ear. “S’okay. I’m not done with you yet. Just couldn’t hold back.” Only a little less hard than before, Jensen draws back and pushes forward, come making everything glide easier than before. Its mind blowing.

Rolling them slowly onto their sides, Jensen nestles against his back and reaches around his hips to take him in hand. The smooth touch of a hand on his cock rips a string of profanities from his throat.

The steady fist stroking him and Jensen’s thick cock pushing in deep, their hips rocking together on the mattress, soft moans tickling the back of his neck is enough to turn anyone into a mess; all wanton and desperate for the finish.

“Don’t chase it, babe. I got you.” Jensen sucks a kiss into his neck and nibbles gently. It’s hard when he’s this tired. All the building pressure has become an ache, a discomfort and he whimpers for Jensen to take him over.

“You ever have a bad day again, think of right now. This… this second.” Jensen tightens his grip and sinks into him, all his senses lighting up, his cock tingling and pulsing with the rampant beat of his heart.

“Close your eyes, Mish. Feel me…”

Letting the world go black, Misha sinks down into the space where Jensen has him and he knows all he has to do is let that incredible man take him over. Jensen’s blunt thick sex slides out all the way and then presses back in. Each pass is slow and measured, hips rocking in deep. Deft fingers stroke up Misha’s shaft, they’re warm and tight and every few seconds, they pass over the head taking the dribbles of precome and working the slippery liquid with every squeeze.

It’s impossible to form thoughts anymore. His mouth hangs open and air pants between his lips. The rough cries from his throat leave him hoarse and craving water.

The whole world seems to spin and flip sideways and Jensen’s touch and unyielding presence is sheer perfection, tearing him into manageable pieces.

A rush of heat flows over his skin and every muscle from his chest down clenches all at once, the force of the spasm so hard he shakes. The first jet of come streams across the duvet and a pained groan clogs up his throat. It’s so good it hurts. And the beating ache that pulses throughout his body is so deliciously raw that renewed tears cloud his eyes.

Every last ounce of energy is depleted and he’s barely aware of Jensen cleaning him up and wrapping him up in blankets. Fingers sink into his hair and he purrs like an animal.

“Get some sleep, babe. I love you.”

The feel of a kiss lingers on his forehead and he smiles slow and lazy.

Maybe he’s still dreaming but it sure as hell feels like the world has just given him a big hug, or maybe he’s just sinking further into the mess of blankets and pillows that Jensen has placed around him like a loving fort.

/\/\/\

Jensen bites his bottom lip to dampen his ridiculous grin. The sight of Misha passed out and fucked out in their bed is a glorious sight. Poor guy had a rough go of it today.

Good thing secret-husband Jensen was there to save the day, he thinks with a smirk.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cockles is always a happy ending XD


End file.
